


reality strikes, so bring back the night

by zukkababey



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (sort of), M/M, Post-Canon, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25271359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zukkababey/pseuds/zukkababey
Summary: Sokka falls asleep that night in the Western Air Temple. He’s surrounded by his sister, the Avatar, the best earthbender in the entire world, and Zuko.When he wakes up, he’s somewhere else entirely.Sokka wakes up in the future.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 191
Kudos: 2677





	reality strikes, so bring back the night

Sokka falls asleep that night in the Western Air Temple. He’s surrounded by his sister, the Avatar, the best earthbender in the entire world, and Zuko.

When he wakes up, he’s somewhere else entirely.

* * *

He’s comfortable – he knows that much. The warmth surrounding him is almost stifling, but Sokka fights against consciousness.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbles to himself, grabbing his sleeping bag and tugging it up closer around his face. But what he touches is not the thick material of his Water Tribe sleeping bag – it’s thin and unbelievably silky.

So much for going back to sleep.

Sokka’s eyes fly open, and he freezes, his heart leaping into his throat. Because this isn’t the Western Air Temple. Not by a long shot.

He’s lying in a bed – a lavish one at that. It has four posters and a legitimate _canopy_ splayed above him. Red drapery has been knotted to each of the posters with thick rope, and Sokka sits up, shuffling over the mattress to lean closer. He reaches out and touches the thick twine with one finger, as if it’s going to turn to dust under his fingertip. That’s some nice rope. Fire Nation rope.

Sokka casts another glance around the room, and now he sees it for what it is – a Fire Nation bedroom. Everything that isn’t wooden in the room is either red or gold, right down to the bedsheets that are currently pooled around Sokka’s hips.

What the fuck is he doing in a Fire Nation bedroom? Has he been kidnapped? Is he on a Fire Nation boat? Where’s Aang? And Katara? Or Toph? Hell, he even wonders where Zuko is, now that he’s good and all.

He focuses on what he can figure out in the moment. He can’t be on a boat – the windows on the far side of the room are too large, and sheer red curtains flutter inward with a faint warm breeze. There’s a door that leads to a balcony, and Sokka can just see treetops and greenery through the glass. A bright blue sky. The sun must not be very high yet – the balcony is in shadow. Morning, then. Early morning.

There are three other doors in the room. One is a double door, and the other two are singles. He wonders where they lead. If they’re locked.

The wind ruffles his hair, and his attention snaps back to the open windows. If the windows are open, then that means someone must have opened them. Someone who wasn’t Sokka.

Sokka stills, waiting and listening for any additional sounds that might tell him more about where exactly he is.

And – wait. There’s something. It almost sounds like… running water.

But – he’s not on a boat. He knows that much. He listens harder.

It sounds like… a shower, maybe. Sokka’s gaze flickers between the two single doors that lead somewhere unknown. He would bet his space sword that one of those doors leads to a bathroom. A room as extravagant as this one would have an attached bathroom, Sokka is sure of it.

However, this knowledge does nothing to explain where he is or how he got here. Or why his apparent kidnapper has left him unattended while they take a shower.

This whole situation is very odd. Very odd indeed.

With absolutely no warning, the running water shuts off.

“Oh, shit,” Sokka breathes. If the water has been turned off, then that means whoever is taking the shower is going to come out soon. Sokka’s entire body is vibrating with adrenaline. He needs a weapon, and he needs one now.

But then the gold knob is glinting in the light as it turns, and the door is opening, and steam is billowing out into the room.

Faintly, Sokka hears a male voice say, “You should wake up early more often,” from inside the bathroom, and someone else laughs, the sound warm and rough.

“No prom–” The man emerging from the bathroom stops dead as he sees Sokka sitting in the middle of the bed before him. He’s clearly just emerged from the shower, his hair still wet and dripping down onto his bare shoulders, down his torso. He has a towel knotted around his waist.

“Oh, fuck,” the man says.

Sokka wishes he could say something, say anything, but his brain has snagged on one important detail. The man standing before him has a thin white scar along his ribs that dips lower in a jagged V as it nears the middle of his chest. It’s a scar that Sokka knows intimately, because he has the very same one on his own rib. He got it as a child, when he and Katara went otter-penguin sledding and he fell onto a sharp ice shelf.

How would this man have the exact same scar as him unless…

_No. That’s way too crazy, Sokka. Way too fucking crazy._

The man’s hand goes to trace the scar as if he can read Sokka’s mind, eyes widening even more, if that’s even possible.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” the man repeats, except this time with feeling.

Sokka’s hand lifts without his permission, touching the spot under his heart where he knows the scar is. Now that he’s looking closer at the man, he does look kind of familiar. Dark skin, brown hair. Blue eyes. His hair is down, and wet, but that’s kind of exactly what his hair looks like when it’s down and wet. Sure, the man’s hair might be longer, but. The shape is the same.

“What’s wrong?” a man calls from inside the bathroom, and _shit,_ it looks like both of them forgot that someone else was in their immediate vicinity.

The older man does nothing but let out a string of sounds, none of which could be classified as words.

The man inside the bathroom must become worried for the man’s sanity, because then he’s moving through the doorway, sliding a pale hand up along the man’s shoulder, stepping out from behind the other man and into Sokka’s view. The man has long, wet, black hair, and he’s wearing what looks like a very expensive red robe.

“Sokka, what’s wrong?” he asks.

Sokka can do nothing but gape at the two men before him, one of which is unmistakably, irrevocably, beyond a shadow of a doubt–

“ _Zuko?_ ” Sokka shrieks.

Zuko – and holy shit, that’s definitely fucking Zuko – turns to look at Sokka, who is still sitting in the bed like a complete idiot.

Zuko’s good eye is wider than Sokka has ever seen it, lips parted. “Holy shit,” he whispers, leaning closer. “Sokka?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sokka says, and his brain is moving a mile a minute. Zuko called the man standing next to him _Sokka_. But… _he’s_ Sokka. There… there can’t be two Sokkas. That defies the natural order of everything in the universe. Everything that he knows is crumbling to pieces around him.

“I thought it was a dream,” the older Sokka breathes. “Oh, Tui and La.”

“You thought _what_ was a dream, exactly?” Zuko asks, pulling his robe tighter around himself, eyes flicking between Sokka and the older Sokka like he doesn’t know where to put his full attention.

The man who looks terrifyingly like an older version of himself looks at Zuko pointedly. He gestures meaningfully towards Sokka, who is still sitting in the middle of the bed opposite them. “Him! _Me!_ I – I thought this entire thing was a dream.”

“You’re…” Zuko takes a step back. “You’re telling me that you _remember this?_ Sokka, that is a younger version of you sitting in our bed.”

Sokka looks down at the silky red bedsheets pooled around him. _Our bed?_ he thinks. _Their bed? Sokka and Zuko’s bed? What the fuck?_

“I know!” Older Sokka’s voice – and Sokka can’t believe he’s referring to someone as _Older Sokka_ – is starting to get hysterical. “I – I remember this! We… we were at the Western Air Temple. You had just joined the group. I went to bed, and I…” As one, Older Sokka and Zuko turn to look straight at Sokka. “I woke up here.”

“Oh, spirits,” Zuko says.

Sokka stares at Zuko and Older Sokka. Older Sokka and Zuko stare back.

Somewhere in the distance, a baby starts to cry. Sokka thinks that’s fitting.

But weirdly, it breaks their staring match. Older Sokka and Zuko meet eyes, exchanging some type of wordless communication that involves a lot of head gestures and pointed looks and raised eyebrows. Finally, with a dissatisfied click of his tongue, Zuko huffs.

He looks over at Sokka on the bed. “I’ll be right back.” He turns and opens one of the other single doors, disappearing to the other side and closing it behind him.

And then there were two. Sokka tries to look anywhere but at the apparent older version of him, but it’s kind of hard considering _there’s an older version of him in the room._ He can’t _stop_ looking at him, and it seems that Older Sokka can’t stop looking at him either.

“This isn’t possible,” Sokka says.

Older Sokka finally seems to break out of his strange reverie, and he drags a hand down his face. “Are you talking about the fact that you just time travelled to the future, or the fact that Zuko and I are married?”

“Zuko and you are _married?_ ” Sokka yells.

Older Sokka just grins, his expression melting into something soft and dopey as he casts a glance to the door that Zuko had disappeared behind. “Yeah. Don’t worry,” he says, looking back at Sokka with knowing eyes. “It’ll make sense eventually.”

Sokka shakes his head. “No way is that _ever_ going to make sense. He chased me – us? – across the entire world! He tried to kill Aang.”

Older Sokka rolls his eyes. “He never wanted to kill Aang.”

Sokka feels himself gape up at the man. “Dude! How can you say that?”

Older Sokka gives him a _bitch, please_ look, and wow, it is _very_ weird to see that expression on his own, albeit slightly older, face. “You’ve already let him into the group, haven’t you? You don’t even believe the things you’re saying.” He holds up a finger as Sokka jumps to correct him. “Ah ah ah – you know I’m right. _I_ know I’m right because I _am_ you. Your argument is invalid.”

Sokka’s mouth clacks shut.

Shit, has he really forgiven Zuko already? No, surely he hasn’t. Zuko’s only been with them for a couple of weeks. And yeah, the guy had a bit of a temper at times. But he was also overwhelmingly kind of _nice_. He liked to make them tea, and talked about his uncle with this really sweet look on his face, and has never once complained about Katara’s terrible berry stew. Even Sokka still complains about the berry stew.

Okay, so maybe he _has_ forgiven Zuko. But forgiving Zuko for trying to kill them on multiple occasions is _extremely different_ than apparently _marrying_ the guy!

“You… married Zuko,” Sokka says, and the fact that Older Sokka is actually _him,_ but in the future, is slowly starting to sink in. “ _I_ married Zuko.”

“You sure did,” Older Sokka replies, not even bothering to soften the blow. “And you’re a better man because of him. Now get out of the bed and help me make it.”

Numbly, Sokka shuffles to the side and slides out of the bed. He’s somewhat surprised that his legs don’t immediately give out underneath him.

_He’s going to marry Zuko._

He grabs the sheet at the same time Older Sokka does, pulling it up to the top of the mattress. Then there’s the duvet, and then _another,_ very unnecessary blanket that they fold on top.

_He’s going to marry Zuko._

“Throw me those pillows,” Older Sokka says, already bending down on his side of the bed to grab at his own pile of pillows.

_He’s going to marry Zuko?!_

Sokka looks down and around, finding an abundance of pillows – all in red and gold, of course – thrown haphazardly across the floor. “Why are these pillows even–” Sokka shuts his mouth before he can finish the question. Older Sokka’s smug grin tells him everything he needs to know. “Please don’t,” Sokka says.

“Oh, I _want to,_ ” Older Sokka tells him. “I want to _so bad._ But I’m afraid your brain might actually explode.”

“Maybe you _should_ tell me, then,” Sokka grumbles, pelting the pillows in the direction of the bed. If he aims a little higher and throws a little harder in the other man’s general direction, then that’s his own business. “Put me out of my misery.”

Older Sokka snorts and doesn’t reply. He catches the next rogue pillow that comes his way, finally pausing to look over at Sokka thoughtfully.

“Why aren’t you freaking out?” Sokka asks desperately. “This is… this is _insane._ There’s no way this is actually real.”

Older Sokka shrugs. He places the square pillow in his hands _just so_ in the middle of the bed. Sokka can’t help but think that twenty pillows on one bed – no matter how massive it might be – is quite possibly overkill. How can this older version of him even sleep on such a thing?

“Why are you living in the Fire Nation?”

Older Sokka raises a single eyebrow. “Did you miss the fact that I am married to Zuko?”

“Well–” Sokka windmills his arms as he gathers his thoughts. “That doesn’t mean you have to live in the Fire Nation!”

A slow grin starts to spread across Older Sokka’s face. It’s conspiratorial, like he knows something that Sokka doesn’t. “It’ll all make sense eventually, Sokka. I promise.”

“No,” Sokka murmurs to himself. “This isn’t real. I’m going crazy. This is just a very vivid dream. I’m going to wake up in the Western Air Temple and everything will be back to normal.” He reaches over to pinch his own arm, squeezing his eyes shut as he does so. But when he opens his eyes again, Older Sokka is splayed across the made bed, having the audacity to look unimpressed.

“You finished?” Older Sokka asks. “Tui, I forgot how annoying I was as a teenager.”

“That’s kind of uncalled for,” Sokka says.

“It really isn’t,” Older Sokka maintains. The way he’s lounging on the bed shows off the stretch of his neck, and Sokka notices the purpley-red bruises that are littered along the line of his collarbones. He has to look away, because _Zuko_ gave him those. Quite possibly when they were very obviously taking a shower together earlier.

But… _Zuko?!_

The whole thing seems way too outlandish to actually be real.

There’s a knock from somewhere, and Older Sokka tenses, eyes snapping to the double door across the room.

“Shit,” he says, and turns back to Sokka. “You stay here. Don’t say _anything._ ”

Sokka can do nothing but nod.

Older Sokka climbs off the bed and pads across the room. With no regard at all to the state of his undress, he opens the door and slips out, shutting the door behind him.

Well. Sokka has two options here. He could stay where he’s supposed to. _Or_ , he could try to eavesdrop through the door. Sokka doesn’t even have to think about it before he’s crossing the same path the older version of him did, flattening himself against the wood and pressing his ear right up against it.

“…dor Sokka! Sir, are you sure this wouldn’t be a better conversation for inside your bedchambers?” It’s a male voice speaking, and he sounds slightly panicked.

“No, Yurik, this will do just fine,” Older Sokka says.

“Sir, you are… indecent.”

“I’m not indecent, everything is covered appropriately.”

“Sir, I really must insist that we–”

“Izumi threw up all over the floor this morning,” Older Sokka interrupts, and Sokka furrows his brows. _Izumi?_ “It smells _awful._ Whatever you need to tell me you can tell me out here.”

“Ambassador, if the royal bedchambers need to be cleaned, I can–”

“Yurik, we can handle a little bit of baby throw-up.”

_Baby?_

“But–” Yurik sounds incredibly nervous. “The Fire Lord–”

_The Fire Lord? What does the Fire Lord have to do with anything?_

“The Fire Lord will be _just fine,_ ” Older Sokka says, and Sokka can tell that he’s getting frustrated. Because that’s what his own voice sounds like when he gets frustrated. Oh, spirits, this is _weird._ “Now, Yurik, what did you want to tell me?”

“Oh, right!” There’s a rustle of cloth and paper, and then he’s speaking again. “I just wanted to give you and the Fire Lord your schedules for today. I’ve been informed to go over–”

“Perfect!” Older Sokka says, and there’s a crinkling sound like he’s just grabbed whatever Yurik is showing him. “Wonderful! I will be sure to give this to – the Fire Lord.”

“Sir, I need to–”

“Thank you so much, Yurik. Really.” The knob on the door Sokka is pressed against starts to turn. “You are a gem among royal assistants. You’re on track for a raise! Okay, buh bye, now.” Older Sokka has slowly inched back into the room as he speaks, finally slamming it in poor Yurik’s face. He throws the parchment scrolls onto the bed and rubs his face with both hands. As his hands slowly drop, he gives Sokka a flat look. “Why did I even bother.”

“I don’t know,” he replies. “You obviously knew I was going to listen.”

“Yeah,” Older Sokka says tiredly.

Suddenly, the door across the room cracks open, and Zuko steps out. “Sokka, I can’t get her to calm down.”

“On it,” Older Sokka says, already halfway across the room. He leans in and presses a kiss to Zuko’s cheekbone as he edges past him and into the room, hand trailing along Zuko’s waist. Sokka is sure that he’s not imagining the blush that rises to Zuko’s cheeks.

Zuko can blush? This is new information. Information that Sokka does not know what to do with.

As Zuko turns to face him, Sokka can’t stop the distrustful expression that settles on his face.

“Wow,” Zuko says with a humourless laugh. “I haven’t seen that look on your face in years.”

Sokka tries to school his features into something more neutral, feeling chastened. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Zuko says. He crosses his arms, and Sokka tries not to notice the way that the older man’s robe has fallen open above where it’s tied lowly around his hips, exposing Zuko’s impressively muscled torso. Damn, Zuko really filled out over the years.

“Sokka said – _my_ Sokka said that you came from the Western Air Temple. Is that true?”

Sokka nods, trying to ignore how nicely the words _my Sokka_ sound in Zuko’s raspy voice. “Yeah.”

“How long has it been since I joined your group?”

Sokka lifts a shoulder. “Couple weeks.”

“So you haven’t gone to the Boiling Rock, yet. That makes sense, then.”

Sokka narrows his eyes over at this older version of Zuko. “What the hell is a boiling rock?”

“Should I be telling you this?” Zuko asks, like Sokka knows the answer to that.

“I think yes,” Sokka says.

“I think _no,_ ” Zuko replies. “You will find out in due time.”

“Cryptic,” Sokka comments.

“Well, it’s not every day that the younger version of your husband shows up in your bedroom asking questions about the future, now is it?” Zuko retorts.

Sokka supposes that Zuko may have a point.

Zuko’s gaze catches on the crumpled scrolls that have been thrown haphazardly across the bed. He leans across with one knee propped up onto the mattress, and Sokka hastily looks away as the movement inadvertently reveals his pale – _muscular_ – inner thigh. Zuko snatches the two scrolls up as he turns to sit on the edge.

“Yurik said those were for Sokka and the Fire Lord,” Sokka feels the need to tell Zuko.

Zuko hums, disregarding the information that Sokka has just given him, eyes scanning both documents quickly. He frowns. “Shit,” he says. “Sokka!” he calls. “You have a meeting in twenty minutes!”

“Okay!” Older Sokka’s voice replies from the other room.

“Give me Izumi and get dressed,” Zuko says.

There’s that name again. _Izumi._

“But _Zuko,_ ” Older Sokka whines.

“What’s in there?” Sokka asks.

Zuko ignores him. “Darling, you need to get dressed. As much as Yurik probably loved seeing your half-naked body, I think the Minister of Education might be a tad more scandalized if you show up in only a towel.”

Sokka has barely any time to comprehend that Zuko just called the older version of him _darling,_ because then Older Sokka is speaking up. “The Education Minister is a dick. How about I blow off the meeting and spend the entire day with you,” his tone adopts something more sappy and high-pitched. “Yes, you. Oh, you are adorable, aren’t you? Don’t you want Papa to stay with you all day?” It kind of sounds like how one might talk to a really cute polar dog puppy.

“Seriously, what’s in there?” Sokka asks.

Zuko looks like a startled cat deer. “Uh.”

Sokka doesn’t feel like waiting any longer. He stalks across the room and throws open the door that Older Sokka went through a few minutes ago.

This room is surprisingly very different from the one he just left. Gone is the heavy red décor and ornate gold carvings. It’s light, and bright, and _very_ pink.

“Whoa,” Sokka breathes.

“Sokka went a little overboard,” Zuko says wryly from behind Sokka, and Sokka spins around to see that Zuko is leaning against the doorframe, peering at Older Sokka with an intimate, soft expression on his face.

“I did no such thing,” Older Sokka replies. He stands in the middle of the room, facing away from them.

Sokka takes a glance around the room, finally able to look past the glaring _pink_ of everything. There’s a plush rocking chair in the corner that reminds Sokka somehow of the Water Tribe, and a bookcase full of children’s books up against the wall next to it. Across from the window, there’s a weird looking table with a patterned pink cushion on top of it, and Sokka wonders what it could be for.

And then Older Sokka is spinning around, revealing the tiny creature he’s holding. Except – it’s not a polar dog puppy. It’s… a baby? A real, human baby.

Wait a minute.

Older Sokka is holding a baby. A baby that looks like Zuko. Sokka looks between Zuko and Older Sokka, but they’re paying him no attention. Instead, Zuko pushes away from the door frame and walks across the room until he’s standing in front of Older Sokka. A gentle hand comes up to cradle Older Sokka’s face, and Older Sokka turns his cheek into Zuko’s palm, pressing a kiss there.

Sokka watches as they both lean towards each other, closer and closer until their faces are just a breath apart. And then they kiss. Lips against lips, Zuko’s hand cupping Older Sokka’s jaw, a baby held between them.

Sokka feels his legs start to tremble. His breath starts coming in short pants. Black dots start to form in the edges of his vision. His body feels unbelievably light.

Zuko and the older version of himself are still kissing. The baby between them starts to babble.

Sokka stumbles back a step, and he crumples to the floor. Everything goes black.

* * *

Sokka awakes with a gasp. He sits straight up, grasping his sleeping bag. And, _oh,_ thank the spirits that he’s back in his own sleeping bag. The Western Air Temple is still dark, the shadows cast from the pillars long and gloomy.

He reaches out, pressing his hand against the stone beneath him. He almost cries in relief as he feels the cold against his palm, the dust and dirt that he’s become accustomed to by now.

He’s back. It’s okay.

It really _was_ just a dream.

Sokka exhales heavily. What a weird thing for his brain to come up with. Zuko has only been on their side for a couple of weeks. Dreaming about marrying the guy and having a baby with him seems a bit extreme.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Sokka’s head whips around at the gravelly voice behind him. Zuko is lying a few feet away in his own sleeping bag, his good eye cracked open.

“Did I wake you?” Sokka asks.

Zuko shrugs, which is answer enough.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Zuko looks away, hesitating. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Sokka thinks back to the dream. As disconcerting as it might have been, Sokka wouldn’t call it a nightmare. “No,” he finds himself whispering to Zuko. “It wasn’t.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, looking confused. “Alright then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Sokka whispers, and then Zuko is turning over onto his other side.

Sokka stares at Zuko’s back for a moment. He thinks of the easy way Older Sokka’s hand slipped onto Zuko’s waist, how he leaned in to kiss the edge of Zuko’s scar. He remembers the fond look that Zuko gave Older Sokka, their child cradled between them.

Sokka shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the remnants of the strange dream. _That’s all it was,_ Sokka tells himself. _Just a dream_.

A nice dream.

But just a dream, nonetheless.

He lays back down, tugging the heavy furs up to his chin. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

If it was just a dream, it wouldn’t hurt to dream about it some more, would it?

Sokka closes his eyes, and sleep comes easy.

He dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> There’s a [graphic](https://zukkababey.tumblr.com/post/623659621874319360/reality-strikes-so-bring-back-the-night-sokka%E2%80%9D%20rel=) on tumblr you can reblog if you enjoyed!


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